


Reasons to Not

by NeverComingHome



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 03:11:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverComingHome/pseuds/NeverComingHome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichabod and Jenny sitting in a tree (fighting demons and) k-i-s-s-i-n-g.</p>
<p>Spoilers for the season (1. 9)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reasons to Not

The world didn’t stop spinning when you were hunting down a headless horseman intent on bringing the end of days so when Ichabod got kicked out of a lecture on American history for shouting “Wrong!” from the back of the room Abbie was in the middle of an interrogation with a fence who wasn’t cooperating with the officer on the case. She called Jenny to pick him up, not bothering to hide how grateful she was to not be in her shoes.

“How’d you get across town to begin with? I thought Abs was keeping you on a short leash.”

“I’m perfectly capable of finding places on my own two feet and you’ll note neither collar or chain around my neck.” He pressed the button to roll the window down and Jenny flicked the control on her side to roll it back up He frowned and stabbed at the button just as she unlocked and locked his door. He pressed every button on the panel before glaring at Jenny. “What are you doing?”

“It's called driving. See the trick is to maintain just enough focus on the road to not run over pedestrians but, you know, shit happens.”

“I see you share your sister’s fondness for vulgarity.”

She winked at him and rolled down his window.

~*~  
Jenny liked doing a lot of things: fighting demonic forces, hopping flights to countries and cities with names she couldn’t pronounce, making Abbie roll her eyes, sneaking priceless artifacts from under the nose of condescending men who had done worse to obtain them in the first place, walking on hardwood floors in plush socks.

Also, Ichabod Crane.

After the incident that was Ichabod refusing to use a stove that would not reveal its fire (thinking the red circles to be like those that turned off most of the electronics he’d pressed his hand to it…) and resorting to putting a metal pot of chili into the microwave he’d resorted to cooking his food outdoors and rejecting the highly flammable frozen meals Abbie had supplied him with. It took him three days before he grew curious enough about one of the contraptions in the shed to learn how to use it and spent half a day barbecuing while the history channel blared from the open door.

Abbie sent Jenny over when he failed to answer the cell left forgotten in a cupboard and she found him placing charred meat into containers and the containers into a bin.

“What’s all that?”

“It appears I made too much food, I’ve misplaced the cellular device so perhaps you might help me deliver these to some sort of haven for the destitute where they may be of service.”

Jenny‘s eyes made a slow crawl from his bare feet to his tousled hair, that probably smelt of burnt coal and pepper, then narrowed. “What is wrong with you?”

“Excuse me?”

He felt as if he could hear every step she took toward although it seemed like no time at all had passed when she was suddenly before him, undoing the button of his shirt without looking away from his face.

“Something has to be wrong with you, Icky, because noone who has seen what you’ve seen could be so fucking,” she kissed his nose, “adorable.”

It probably didn’t help that he shivered and the first words out of his mouth were, “Ms. Mills-” with the intent to scold, but with the air of a plea. He was like a hunting dog who in the presence of its master turned belly up like a puppy, certainly capable of force, but not in that moment. They did the dance though because they were both creatures of habit. Inappropriate-yes, loyalty to his ghost wife-check, the end of days-noted, no time for foolishness-very good, not to mention blah, blah, and blah.

Her back hit the wall hard enough for the smile pressed to his mouth to be a reaction to the pain while keeping him from stopping to worry and fret. When the last moans were dead in the air and the thought of more made them twitch with discomfort he kissed a scar on her arm.

“When did you know it was a war?”

“You need to work on your pillow talk.”

He didn’t react. “Tell me.”

She thought about then looked at her hands as she spoke. “There was this follower of the Dark Order who had a vision that I was coming to take a certain object from him.  Until then it was just stealing or lying so I'd never had to hurt anybody. I walked in, he pointed a gun at my face and all I could think was that this guy I barely knew was willing to beat me to death over a compass. I kicked the gun out of his hand, knocked him out and realized that I was willing to do the same. How about you?”

“I had a similar experience only replace compass with freedom.” She stared at him in something like disbelief. “What?”

She shook her head with a dry laugh and wrapped a sheet around herself before standing up, leaving him to shuffle into a sitting position, palms up in confusion.

“What have I said?”

_All the right things_. She paused in the doorway. “This was a bad idea. You should call Abbie, let her know you’re alive. Phone's in the cupboard."

“Jenny!”

By the time he pulled on a shirt and pair of trousers she was in the driver’s seat of the car with the sheet still around her middle.

~*~  
It’s not like her sister was perfect or anything, but Abbie didn’t think she was asking for more than a time disoriented Englishman hung up on his not-dead wife and destined to witness a holy war waged on the innocents of earth as a brother-in-law. Sleepy Hollow was filled with handsome accountants, librarians, and men who didn’t hold philosophical conversations about love with cleverbot and internet savvy smart phone apps, but wasn't it such a Mills trait to do the worst thing in an attempt to do the right thing.

“We need to talk about Crane, he’s been hanging out at my apartment trying to run into you and you need to fix. This. Now.”

Jenny fired off a few shots at the minion, waving Abbie to follow her. “How bad can he be?"

"Duck!" Ichabod shouted, rushing past them on horseback.

The arrow landed  just above Abbie’s head and began to promptly dissolve the tree in which it was stuck. They sprinted the rest of the way to the car and Jenny stomped the gas pedal while Abbie hung out the window to spray the demonic archers with bullets, shouting over the blast.

“HE USED MY NECK MASSAGER.”

“So?”

She dropped back in to reload. “It wasn’t the one I use for my neck.”

Jenny almost missed their turn, but swung onto the path just in time. “Alright, alright I’ll talk to him.”

~*~  
What Abbie walked in on a week later when Ichabod and Jenny both failed to answer their phones certainly wasn’t talking and there wasn’t enough brain bleach in the world to make her forget it. While going through classified records Irving pointed out that on the bright side the pair were too busy being dangerous and impulsive in bed to be dangerous and impulsive on the streets of Sleepy Hollow. She nodded, stifling a yawn.

“Good point.”

“Just don’t think about the 'in bed' part.”

“I wasn’t until the exact moment you said that.”

 

 


End file.
